Read Online Alternating Currents by Frederik Pohl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frederik Pohl
Tags: Science-Fiction
Ads: Link
said the word I had learned.
There was a flicker, and at once, like a chrysalid leaving its cocoon, a pale bluish lion-shape slipped out of the embalmedfigure and leaped noiselessly to the floor. The ghost of Leo stood immobile for a long second, his enormous nostrils testing heaven knows what impalpable atmosphere for scents. Then the jaws gaped, and with a sense that had nothing to do with my ears I heard, or thought I heard, his majestic roar.
I confess that for a moment I was breathing hard. My friend had said very positively that the wraiths could neither touch or harm me, or anyone else . . . but when the lion-ghost saw me, and charged, paws flailing and jaws dripping incorporeal foam, it took a major effort of will to hold my ground. Leo went through me with no more effect than a probably imaginary chill. He spun round, batted at me with a substanceless paw, roared another of those soundless roars, and then blinked and laid back his ears, like a housecat caught misconducting itself under a bed.
I exulted, and ignored him as I headed for the stairwell. The Akely group of elephants tempted me for a moment, but I passed them by.
But on the third floor temptation grew stronger. Just off the stairwell I entered the halls I had helped to arrange, sturdy glass cases with their tablets and stones recording the times the world has forgotten. I nodded at the Jonas fragment, for it was that, with its clear story of Nilotic wizardry that I had translated and Brandon sneered at as a fable, which had led to the break. Too bad, I thought to myself, that the stone itself had never had a life, so that I could evoke it to be the unarguable refutation of everything Brandon had said. . . .
And realized, of course, that though the stone was hopeless, the hall was littered with objects which were not. Beyond the stone’s case, for instance, was the sarcophagus of the Boy Pharaoh, lid standing next the case, mummy slim and erect inside it. They were plainly visible in the half-light; though the glass case was locked, I still had on my key ring the means to open it.
It was, I thought, worth taking a moment. I looked around carefully, but, though I did see something move behind me, on examination it turned out to be nothing but the lion-ghost gliding restlessly down the hall away from me, long tail lashing. I almost chuckled aloud as I thought of him finding his way out into the Park, and the newspaper headlines, and the statements for the Press the ‘ authorities’ would have to make.
But, for the moment, I had several other things on my mind. I lifted the mummy out; a patch of shoulder, the colour of clay and the texture of canvas, was bare. I touched it with the woven willow and whispered the word.
There was a faint, unheard rustle, and I became aware that I was not alone. It took a second for the bluish figure of the Boy to show itself - but at last there it was, cat-eyed, hawk-nosed, eyes open and looking at me. There was an emptiness in them, a vacuum where there should have been expression, which I found horrible to look at; I do not think that it was because the ghost was a ghost, but because of the incredible ages that had gone while this thing lay mouldering in the flesh and God knows where in the spirit, before I recalled it with the spell.
The boy opened his thin lips and spoke imperiously; in my mind I heard the words, but of course they meant nothing. I know modern Egyptian well enough, but there was no single sound in what the Pharaoh said that I recognized; and of course there were no phonemes in the ancient alphabet I had learned to translate. He said something again; then snarled, spat at me, turned and walked off. I let him go. When the Boy ruled Egypt he was eleven. The greatest good fortune the Egyptians ever had was that he never reached twelve.
I watched the slight, stiff figure stride imperiously away. Then I opened the door to Brandon’s office.
He stared at me
There was a flicker, and at once, like a chrysalid leaving its cocoon, a pale bluish lion-shape slipped out of the embalmedfigure and leaped noiselessly to the floor. The ghost of Leo stood immobile for a long second, his enormous nostrils testing heaven knows what impalpable atmosphere for scents. Then the jaws gaped, and with a sense that had nothing to do with my ears I heard, or thought I heard, his majestic roar.
I confess that for a moment I was breathing hard. My friend had said very positively that the wraiths could neither touch or harm me, or anyone else . . . but when the lion-ghost saw me, and charged, paws flailing and jaws dripping incorporeal foam, it took a major effort of will to hold my ground. Leo went through me with no more effect than a probably imaginary chill. He spun round, batted at me with a substanceless paw, roared another of those soundless roars, and then blinked and laid back his ears, like a housecat caught misconducting itself under a bed.
I exulted, and ignored him as I headed for the stairwell. The Akely group of elephants tempted me for a moment, but I passed them by.
But on the third floor temptation grew stronger. Just off the stairwell I entered the halls I had helped to arrange, sturdy glass cases with their tablets and stones recording the times the world has forgotten. I nodded at the Jonas fragment, for it was that, with its clear story of Nilotic wizardry that I had translated and Brandon sneered at as a fable, which had led to the break. Too bad, I thought to myself, that the stone itself had never had a life, so that I could evoke it to be the unarguable refutation of everything Brandon had said. . . .
And realized, of course, that though the stone was hopeless, the hall was littered with objects which were not. Beyond the stone’s case, for instance, was the sarcophagus of the Boy Pharaoh, lid standing next the case, mummy slim and erect inside it. They were plainly visible in the half-light; though the glass case was locked, I still had on my key ring the means to open it.
It was, I thought, worth taking a moment. I looked around carefully, but, though I did see something move behind me, on examination it turned out to be nothing but the lion-ghost gliding restlessly down the hall away from me, long tail lashing. I almost chuckled aloud as I thought of him finding his way out into the Park, and the newspaper headlines, and the statements for the Press the ‘ authorities’ would have to make.
But, for the moment, I had several other things on my mind. I lifted the mummy out; a patch of shoulder, the colour of clay and the texture of canvas, was bare. I touched it with the woven willow and whispered the word.
There was a faint, unheard rustle, and I became aware that I was not alone. It took a second for the bluish figure of the Boy to show itself - but at last there it was, cat-eyed, hawk-nosed, eyes open and looking at me. There was an emptiness in them, a vacuum where there should have been expression, which I found horrible to look at; I do not think that it was because the ghost was a ghost, but because of the incredible ages that had gone while this thing lay mouldering in the flesh and God knows where in the spirit, before I recalled it with the spell.
The boy opened his thin lips and spoke imperiously; in my mind I heard the words, but of course they meant nothing. I know modern Egyptian well enough, but there was no single sound in what the Pharaoh said that I recognized; and of course there were no phonemes in the ancient alphabet I had learned to translate. He said something again; then snarled, spat at me, turned and walked off. I let him go. When the Boy ruled Egypt he was eleven. The greatest good fortune the Egyptians ever had was that he never reached twelve.
I watched the slight, stiff figure stride imperiously away. Then I opened the door to Brandon’s office.
He stared at me
Similar Books
